


Dawn of a new day

by dorina16able



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Healing, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Spoilers, so proud of my girl, this ship will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorina16able/pseuds/dorina16able
Summary: He wouldn’t treat her like the glorious hero others would praise her as or like a fragile little girl who needed protection after the battle. He would simply treat her as Arya Stark.Gendry and Arya’s reunion right after the end of the battle for Winterfell





	Dawn of a new day

**Author's Note:**

> What do we say to the God of Death? "NOT TODAY, YOU BASTARD!!"
> 
> OMG, I started writing the next part of my series of Gendrya one-shots, but then I watched episode 3 and forgot everything else...I still have freaking goosebumps, guys. My girl Arya Stark is a LEGEND!!!! 
> 
> So, instead of writing the next part of my series, here is my own take of their reunion after the battle, this time after what happened in canon. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones universe and characters.

Arya barely looked around her, hardly perceiving her surroundings as she slumped down against the wall, her head leaning forward in exhaustion. She was silent ever since the Night King exploded in thousand shards at the end of her weapon, taking his White Walkers and wights with him, and she had stayed silent as she looked at Bran, her brother returning her gaze with a soft, proud smile on his face. She didn’t even utter a word when Gendry stormed in the Godswood, torn and bloodied and covered in dirt, yet a relieved smile and laughter lightning his features as he took in her appearance and he responded to her silent request to get out of there before anyone joined them and started asking questions.

She knew she should have waited for her siblings, make sure that they were in one piece. But she couldn’t face anyone, not yet, not even those closest to her. Therefore she was glad that Gendry hadn’t addressed her while they walked towards the healing area to treat her wound; he was a silent presence next to her, comforting but not overwhelming, which would surely come to contrast with the hug Jon would give her together with a hundred compliments and with the questions Sansa would ask her with pride for her sister’s accomplishment coloring her voice.

All this she would confront later, she thought now as she waited for Gendry to return with medical supplies, the smith’s gaze making it clear to her that he would not allow any objections from her and that he would look after the scar on her head himself. But right now she couldn’t bear to hear anyone asking her what happened when she attacked the Night King, let alone hear anyone cheering for her and declaring her some stupid hero or something. Because she knew that Bran would tell everyone; what had happened wouldn’t stay a secret, yet Arya was not in the mood to deal with this.

Not when she and her closest people had come alive out of a battle that seemed to be doomed from the start.

Not when they had suffered so many losses and had gone through so much fear for themselves and their loved ones.

Not when she herself didn’t know how to _feel_ or _act_ …how was she supposed to feel after a battle like that? Right now she was totally blank, but not like in the past when she was a hollow shell of the old Arya Stark, suppressing memories and emotions in order to focus on revenge and training. This blankness was different; it held her agony for everyone, her determination to stay alive, her guilt for all the deaths she couldn’t prevent from happening…it even held her relief to be alive and her anger at everyone who would simply treat her as a savior and wouldn’t understand how much she had pressured herself to find the courage to do what she had done.

_Not today._

“Arya?”

Gendry’s voice was soft as he addressed her, kneeling in front of her and trying to catch her gaze, which seemed to be unfocused and glassy, probably due to tiredness. He didn’t so much expect her to reply to him or to draw her attention to him; he just wanted to cherish the sound of her name, her being right in front of him, despite the open wound on her forehead and the blood that had dried on her cheek.

Hero or not, injury or not, she was _alive_. That was the only thing he cared about.

And gods did Gendry appreciate this even more than last night, when they were trying to forget the upcoming battle and the horns of war that sounded the arrival of the dead army.

“Not so ladylike now, huh?”

It was the first thing she spoke out loud ever since he found her next to Bran in front of the impressive tree with the red leaves; a ghost of an old joke, the nickname he had given her, which now sounded empty as she uttered it with a voice void of any emotions that scared Gendry to the seven hells and back, even though he could understand her; what could have been said after such a fierce fighting and after the greatest enemy they would ever face had been defeated by the woman who was so important to him?

Therefore he didn’t reply to her verbally; he only left a chuckle as he began to cleanse her wound and clean her face from the blood and dirt with a cloth he had brought together with some supplies to prevent infection. His movements were careful and Gendry almost laughed at the fierce look she threw at him; did she believe he was careful because he was afraid of how he would behave to her after she killed the Night King? Did she think he was building walls between them?

He shook his head, giving her the answer she was seeking for; no, his tender movements had nothing to do with the differences in their statuses; this didn’t matter anymore, not after fighting against Death itself. And he knew she understood, for a smile started making its way on her lips; not her trademark challenging smirk, but an honest smile, a smile of content and of thoughts expressed with no words needed.

“Do you feel dizzy? Does it hurt much?” Gendry wanted to know after he was done tending to the gash on her forehead, although his hand kept resting against the side of her head, gently in order not to hurt her more. “I could go and find Lady Sansa or Missandei to look after you, draw you a bath perhaps…”

“No need. It doesn’t hurt so much now, it will be fine.” Arya reassured him, her reply coming a bit quick to sound convincing, although he knew she was telling the truth. “I guess you’re not the only bullheaded here...my head seems to be quite tough too.”

Another witty remark, another shadow of teasing banters they used to exchange. It was too much for him and, before he could control his reaction, he had already leaned his head on her folded knees, pressing his forehead on her lap. His hands squeezing hers, warm breath ghosting over her knuckles, and Arya allowed the gesture with a soft sound of despair, an expression of what they witnessed tonight…giving him the strength he needed to fully realize that she had made it.

She had killed the Night King himself! A hero of the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities…who would have known that the little girl he once met, the girl who was disguised as a boy, would one day grow to kill the personification of all evil. He was proud of her, yes, his whole chest was swelling with pride and love for this girl who had grown into this astonishing woman; but more than pride he felt relief and overwhelming gratitude for her mere presence.

“Gods, Arya…I didn't see you during the battle and I thought…I was scared that…”

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Gendry. I know.” The sound of his own name, one of the rare times she spoke it out, and he almost laughed at himself because of the shudders this gave him as if he was some smitten boy like in the songs.

Of course she knew; she always knew even when he didn’t use many words. He rose his head from her lap and, still in no control of his reactions or his feelings, began placing kisses everywhere he could reach; her hands, the crook of her neck, right over her calm pulse, her cheek, her temple, even her lips; kisses that held everything they shared the previous night when they thought they would die, but so tender, worshipping one would say. Small and adoring pecks that showed just how happy he was to be here with her, at the place where the world had ended last night in the battlefield and the place that had seen a new day with the break of dawn.

He would gladly stay with her like that for hours, knowing how much she feared seeing everyone and hearing them singing her praises and asking for details of how she killed the Night King; Arya was never one to hear praises even when she deserved them. But he couldn’t be selfish; there were people there in agony about her fate and he couldn’t keep her away from them.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you should go back to the Godswood.” He therefore told her and helped her standing up, his hands on her forearms. “Your sister, your brothers…They’ll want to see you.”

“Will you come to the Godswood too?” A reflection of her question yesterday about whether he’d be down in the crypts with her; asking for his company in true Arya Stark fashion.

“You need to be with your family. And there’s a lot of work to do. But we’ll talk later, I promise. We have all the time now.” His words a genuine answer as he briefly drew her back in his hug, giving her one last kiss on the top of her head before pulling away from her and watching her as she left.

Arya smirked, now starting to realize everything that transpired, and so she twirled around and looked at him, still with that smirk, exactly like she had done the first day he arrived at Winterfell.

The smirk he threw back at her and the encouraging nod was all she needed and, as she walked back towards the Godswood, one would say that her step had become much lighter.


End file.
